


N025: Unfettered

by Rhion



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Het, Incest, Multi, Pevencest, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he fell, she was the only one who wasn't angry. Hurt, disappointed - yes, but mostly afraid for him. When he fought for redemption, she was overjoyed. She accepted his stained soul as it was. For that, he stood by her, for that, he loved her more than he loved any other. </p><p>When they returned to London, she would close her eyes and imagine that they both weren't gawky adolescents. She knew they would find a way to make it work. Maybe go to the States after the war. Maybe find a way to travel the world, see the sights, be places that no one knew who, or what, they were to one another.</p><p>When Caspian called out for help, Edmund knew what must happen for the sake of Narnia, his friend, and, most importantly, the woman he loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	N025: Unfettered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/gifts).



> There's some mild underage stuff if you don't count the head/experience ages of both Edmund and Susan when they're in London. Also, if Edmund's sixteen going on seventeen when they first start things up in Narnia, that too can be counted as a bit underage, but that really depends on your country of origin. 
> 
> This whole bloody thing sprang up because Nagia finally, after reading oodles and oodles of my Suspian rough drafts, watched LWW and PC... By the end of PC, she was going "I SHIP IT! I SHIP IT ALL! SUSAN NEEDS TO STAY IN NARNIA TO HAVE HER HAREM!" and then we got to talking about movie vs book canon and Ed's behaviour blahblah...yeah. Yeah and this happened because of it. I blame her. It's all her freakin' fault. And I've already done Peter+Su before and found that to be waaay dark...sooo, she'll just have a duo of knobs for her knob forest...
> 
> Also, my internet is all fucky, and my usual laptop went all fucky too (thankfully it looks like the IT dude can fix it and is tentatively hopeful on saving my data), so I'm on my old one that is missing the 'I', 'M', 'N' and 'W' keys, so this means there's likely to be some fuckier than usual fubars.

... **Declined Summons**

Peter was easily distracted from what he wanted of Susan, or she hoped he would continue to be. In the end, Susan knew it was convenience that had originally had him directing attentions at her as though he were one of her ever increasing number of suitors. Convenience and familiarity, as well as possessiveness. Probably protectiveness as well, but she wasn’t four years old, needing her older brother to chase off boys tugging her hair as she could do just fine on her own. (It didn’t mean Susan no longer wanted his care and support, but he should _trust_ her to be able to do for herself for pity’s sake.) It was part of why she rejected his advances out of turn, always. That, and the fact that she knew her older brother _too well_ , and he didn’t seem to know her at all, no matter how he thought he did. 

Yes, Susan loved Peter, it just wasn’t in any other way beyond a sibling who had taken on the role of female head of household, hearthkeeper, healer, nurturer, pragmatic and practical, thrifty, and impatient when dealing with any nonsense that threatened the safety of the whole. They could play House all they pleased, with Susan as Mother and Peter as Father, but it wouldn’t work, the emotions and feelings just didn’t stretch between them both ways. (Bloody hell, she doubted he even really felt that way for her either - again, there was that comfort and familiarity. So routine, Peter thrived off of the stuff.) Mostly, her elder brother saw what he wished to see when he looked at her...as well as her body that had exploded into womanhood. If she were to give in even a little, even the tiniest bit, just once, Peter would move in to stake full claim as conquered territory, never to be relinquished. (It had always been his way, only reluctantly, with many provisos, did Peter share anything with anyone not directly related to him.) So, it wasn’t worth it, and when another private summons for a meal was tendered, Susan looked at the satyr who had delivered it, smiled kindly and threw it in the fire, her answer clear and impossible to misunderstand - then swept from her quarters in search for an Eagle. Alinor may allow her the privilege of experiencing the skies with him. If not, there was Pavan, the Horse who was always up for a wild and free galloping escape, his name ever so apt as his fleetness turned him to the dancing wind, no matter that his hooves were shackled to the land.

 _The High King can summon, but the High Queen is free to decline,_ Susan told herself primly, her wild saffron and indigo skirts singing their whispering melody over the many types of flooring of Cair Paravel’s halls. 

As she passed a recessed spot meant for reading, thinking, quiet conversation out of the way - _Or trysts_ \- a shadow detached itself. Smoothly falling into step, Edmund, in a black open vest over hunter green tunic, belted in the dual wield he preferred, over well fitted black trews, his nape length, ebony lockes were held back in a brushy curled queue. It wasn’t so long ago he was a gawky great dane puppy, his joints, shoulders and hands far too large, while the rest struggled to catch up. Sixteen and wise enough to _not_ try and grow facial hair the way Peter had fought to for so long (until now, Peter had a good beard, but for the longest time, it had a pathetic set of wisps that put Susan in mind of some creepy pervert spying on unsuspecting bathers, hiding in the bushes with his willy in hand), Edmund was spreading out and filling in, just as Susan was - at great and impressive speed. Visiting women would titter and sigh over her fair skinned brother, giggling about how beautiful he was, then they would forget all about him, their gazes swinging to more ‘handsome’ and ‘dignified’ venues. Like Peter. (Who also was more likely to play their flirtatious games, which Edmund had no patience for, his wit too biting, his demeanor too scathing. Edmund was the definition of off-putting or acquired taste to most. Not that he didn’t have a vast lion’s share of conquests, he preferred women who weren’t trophy hunting, plenty of serving maids would find themselves falling for a flirtatious, rakish grin and a lack of promises beyond a good night or three. Basically, he didn’t _woo_ or make it a sport - it was just a good time to be had by all participants, and not a single iota more.) 

Lengthening her inconsiderable stride, Susan rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation as Edmund simply used his much longer legs to keep up with ease, “Not right now, Ed. Please.”

“What’s got your skirts all up? A suitor send you another present that spoiled?” came the expected probing quip that was the armour over concern and interest. “Like, what was it that the moneylender in Teebeth sent? A crate of already ripe fruit...durian as I recall? Couldn’t get that corpse stench out for weeks...”

“Somewhat, yes.” Susan knew she was being short with him, so she paused, turning towards him, and lay a hand on his arm, “It’s nothing to worry over, I’m just quite tired of all the constant attention, and really, truthfully, a bit sick of men and their pestering expectations that I’ll just do whatever they say, or come when they call. So just...now’s not a good time, Edmund.” Leaning up, she kissed his cheek briefly, “I’m sorry.”

Scrutiny, brief, measuring her expression, her body language, then her younger brother took a small step back. “Take your bow when you go, Su. And a cloak - wind’s chilly, and if you get sick, who’ll be around to make sure the kitchens don’t go all to shit?”

Unable to help a grateful smile, shaking her head, “Right, the food in general. Really, you’re just worried that someone will try to put jellied eel on the menu again. Or that someone stocks only white wine and no red, no mead, no ale, nor beer - again. Like Lucy did.”

The expected facial contortion of disgust came, along with a really comical, “Bleugh. Perish the thought.”

... **Failed to Dissuade**

People forgot that Susan’s bow wasn’t a toy. They also forgot that Susan was the best tracker in Narnia, trained by Cats, Wolves, Eagles, and even Gryphons, all the Animals that were completely taken with her. (Horses were horrible trackers, unless it was to water, and besides, Horses were taken with all the Pevensies, so they were unmentionable in that case.) Those particular Narnian races weren’t known for being sweet or gentle, each having some of the most fearsome reputations - yet they were Susan’s most favoured Creatures, her staunchest supporters. There was a reason for that, too, one that eluded everyone who was so stuck on her face or body and her title of Gentle or _Radiant Sun_. (Edmund wasn’t one to question Aslan, but he really did have to wonder about the logic the Lion had used to come up with _that_ moniker.) They also forgot that she was the last line of defense for a _reason_ , a reason that had only passing connection to her distaste for spilling blood or causing pain... Edmund always thought it was funny how unobservant people were. Really, people - what bloody bastards. Diplomat and all that, yes, that’s what Susan was, she was also the bait in the trap, a little carrot to entice, dazzle, and make people go all stupid. 

And did they ever go all stupid!

Knowing his sister could take care of herself, Edmund let her slip away, unconcerned. If she wanted to growl over this or that idiot that had aggravated her, she wouldn’t have shooed him away. It didn’t mean he couldn’t go knock a few heads together, remind the rabble that there were brothers about who took a dim view of sisters being bothered. So what if it was evening and most were taking meals? It would make it interesting. Bit of mead, wine, and head knocking, better than having to sit through bedtime stories that Lucy still pleaded for. (Later he’d still pop his head in, but that would be long after she would be sound asleep, hugging her stuffed lion toy.)

Later, a good sized split in his bottom lip, Edmund was mirthful as he sat back, hands laced behind his head, watching the newer gaggle of strutting peacocks falling all over themselves, aggravated and indignant that he’d so soundly trounced them. Peter had come in, took one look, then began rubbing his forehead. That only made Edmund’s smile widen, his elder brother got this gloriously constipated look on his face. _Too bad there’s no way to pry the stick out of his arse. Not even an Act of Aslan could get rid of **that** thing._ (If he didn’t know how fun loving and free spirited dryads were, Ed would suspect one of the dancing trees to have installed that uppity and boring bough in his brother’s posterior.) 

“Edmund, a word if you please?” Peter’s voice was calm, controlled, and commanding.

Rubbing the back of his hand under his chin, Edmund popped up, waving his other hand at the grumbling suitors, a bright friendly smile stretching his face all over the place, “Sorry to dance and dash, but looks like I’ve things to be about, cheerio chaps!” 

Edmund joined Peter, who was doing his _Magnificent_ best to not look long suffering. Did a rather bang up job of it too, only sort of marred by the sigh that was heaved, the iridescent ruby of his thick samite doublet throwing lights with the motion. Edmund hid a smirk behind his calloused hand, masking the whole motion by rubbing his jaw. No doubt in retaliation though, Edmund wanted to flinch as his older brother clapped him on the shoulder, tugging him along for A Walking Discussion. Really, just some nagging, grumbling, and bossing. Nattered more than a mother hen did.

“And what did that batch do this time, Ed?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual, wearing too much scent, calling me a boy, same as always, Pete,” carefree and amused as it was delivered.

Shaking his head, gold circlet holding his mane of similarly golden hair close to his head before it fluffed comically down to his shoulders (at least in Edmund’s opinion, but the ladies were always on about it, silly little birds.) “Ed - you can’t keep picking fights over that sort of thing. At this rate, you’ll start a border war!”

“If it’s so problematic, why even bother having them here, Pete? They eat up the food, aggravate, insult and act like arses towards the nonhumans, really, there’s no bloody good reason to let so many of them be here,” he snorted. “Plus they make it really untidy. Don’t mind their retinues so much, but the suitors themselves should all just get stuffed.”

Peter gave him an incredulous look, “You’re serious? Really? Narnia’s best tactician can’t figure out why we let so many of them come?” They entered a side garden, Peter’s casual walking ankle boots making softer sounds than Edmund’s perpetual preference for more combat worthy, knee boots with better heels for life in the saddle or coping with treacherous ground. “Because the other kingdoms aren’t certain of us, and we must put forth a strong front, Ed. Control the flow of information that works its way over there. Keep the military and ruling groups off their footing, and distracted by thoughts of marriage alliances to bring prime goods or resources their way rather than pondering actual conquest...”

Chin jutting, jaw firming, “Right, so Su has to be the endless bait, pestered, bothered, not allowed a free moment to do whatever she likes, just so she can be fondled, oogled, harassed, and accosted, all while gusseted up like a high price tramp when she’d rather be in slit skirts over trews. You don’t even think of that as prostituting her, do you, Pete? What liberties will you allow when Lucy’s no longer allowed to play the child the way she does? Will you start charging, you know, so that the strain of feeding all these idiots and throwing monthly balls is lessened on the coffers? At what point do you finally consider yourself a pimp? It’s not like you’re entertaining any customers, so to speak. Hell, Su takes the lion’s share, and so will Luce, but I get plenty myself. Too bad you won’t share the load, but you’re too busy counting the coin, I suppose...”

The High King’s steps hitched, concern twisting his face, ignoring the harsh sardonic words Ed threw his way - probably felt it didn’t need to be dignified with an answer, “Who overstepped this time? She missed dinner, you know. Just up and left the palace without so much as a word to anyone...”

“Dinner?” casting him a puzzled look. “When I saw her, she was angry enough at mankind she probably would’ve been tempted to feather the next man who made eyes at her or something. Said she was sick of their attentions and that she’s not just going to come when she’s called.”

The eldest Pevensie grimaced, “Oh bugger.”

Halting, Edmund crossed his arms, and rested his weight on a shifted back leg. “What did you do, Pete?”

“I’ve been trying to get some time alone with her,” Peter shrugged. “If she’s doing so badly because of all the suitors, and we don’t dare give favour to one group over another by marrying her off to one of them, then I thought maybe...” Exasperated, “I’m not trying to make her feel like she’s being prostituted, hell, that’s the opposite I want for _any_ of us. You, me, Su, Lu... And you’re right, she’s received most of it, and I’ve decided to do what I can about that, you know?”

Edmund’s first through third inclination was to punch Peter. The fourth was to kick him somewhere tender, and the fifth probably was a knockdown, drag out, fight. It was the sixth that had him giving Peter the sort of disbelieving, disapproving, questioning of all intelligence and worth, sort of look that Edmund had spent years practicing and perfecting in a mirror. (Actually it was an expression native to his face, but practice and tweaking had made it even more effective.) It tended to work pretty well in his experience, making the recipient feel like a right maggot. (Under other circumstances, he would be surprised that Peter actually addressed those concerns, but Edmund was too busy being incredulously irritated at his elder brother’s brainlessness...clearly he hadn’t actually spoken to Su about _any_ of it, and just came up with his own idea.)

“Oh don’t give me that look!” Peter tried to wave it off. “It would remove Susan’s piece from the political board, one less bargaining chip for us, but I don’t want her to be unhappy, Ed. Besides, one of us is going to have to start making some heirs at some point, it’s our duty.”

Making a face, nodding, “Right, fine idea, and Su’ll just go right along with being trapped and bound to Sir Pomp And Circumstance. Right, right. Splendid idea, Pete.” Asking, having guessed the answer, but it was best to force Pete to admit it, “Did you even think to, oh, I don’t know, maybe discuss this with her, find out her thoughts on it, or did you just make a decision and start making an arse of yourself the same way those bag of knobs do?”

Peter’s expression hardened, which meant his mind really was made up, and wasn’t going to be budged short of an act of Aslan. _Maybe not even then._ “I’m sure your idea of antagonizing others will work, Ed. Oh, but, it hasn’t, has it? Susan will come to her own decision when she’s tired of dealing with the others. All I’ve got to do is be patient.”

Edmund let his arms uncross, raising them to let it all go, “Yea, I see you’ve got it all sorted, Pete. You know just how it all needs to go, got it. It’s all good, we’ll just work off of all your assumptions...forgetting that when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me - but mostly you.”

Leaving with a dismissive gesture, Edmund was ready to just go hunting on his own. The call of the skies, hills, dales, and forest sounded like a perfect retreat. No wonder Su had run off. She was like Artemis’ Golden Hind, a coveted, unattainable prize, chased and hunted until it was exhausted. It all almost made Ed miss their old lives, the one that was hazy because it had been so dreary, eternally washed out and grey, repressive and tightly controlled. But at least back there, Peter wouldn’t have thought to add himself to the endless list, it wouldn’t have been permissible. It would have been a dual edged sword though, cutting him on the backswing, but Edmund may have feelings, wishes, dreams...that didn’t mean he’d act on them. Susan had her own preferences, and it was for men of a different sort...soldiers mostly, but large, virile men, which Ed, warrior or not, probably would never grow into that sort of blocky, soldier like style she so favoured. Besides, Ed had no desire to capture Susan, and he was perfectly content with the close roles they already were blessed with...there was no need to be greedy. 

... **The Protective Huntress**

Susan had been welcomed in a small Pack’s den, singing soothing lullabies to the newest Cubs a Wolf Bitch had recently whelped. Not so long ago, Wolves were enslaved by Jadis, and they had a hard time being accepted by the other Narnians due to Maugrim and the actions of the Secret Police. (She knew it was hard, for a century, Narnia had suffered, but just because the slaves served her, it didn’t mean they’d had good lives _either_. The Packs all suffered, too. It was a nightmare for one and all, except for the truly twisted who delighted in others’ pain.) Susan had been afraid of them, her memories tainted strongly of snapping jaws nipping at her feet, tearing the hem of her dress as she was cornered, and it had been easy to keep separate enough to not dig, and to let herself believe and think as the rest of the Narnians did. Yet once, while out with one of the Eagles, she had spied a Wolf being chased, limping, and as Whitley swung lower, Susan had realized the Wolf was more than injured, but heavy bellied with Cubs. That vision had driven Susan to a heartbroken frenzy, possible villainess or not, the little ones in her body were blameless. Up until then, Susan had never killed, but the warnings to those hunting the Wolf had been ignored, and so she had defended the female from the group of Black Dwarves. It had been horrible to slay a person of any type, and still made her ill to think on it, but it was the right thing to do. (No matter how, after she had finally been free to return to Cair Paravel, Susan’d had terrible guilt over the fact she hadn’t been able to prevent the bloodshed.) After that, she had cautiously tended to the Wolf’s injuries, helping her find a safe, soft space to go through what she must to deliver the precious lives from her womb. Then Susan had sent Whitely to grab a goodly sized pack of supplies so that a temporary den could be fashioned and Susan had then stayed until another Pack had come, heeding Romula’s (the Wolf) call for help. Ever since Susan’s desperate act to defend the defenseless, the Packs had come to investigate in small groups, test and find out if they may be granted a chance for safety and belonging within the kingdom. And Susan had become their advocate, in turn, she was granted the enormous gift of being allowed to help the most vulnerable of the Wolves, and to admire the new lives, or let them fall and trundle over her playfully. She utterly loved their stubby tails, their toasted corn breath, and to see them grow, learn, it made Susan’s breast swell with love and pride at each accomplishment and healthy milestone passed.

A Cub was in her arms, licking her chin, probably looking for a bit of a meaty snack, “Oh, I don’t have that skill, my fuzzy darling. Whatever’s in my tum won’t do you much good anyway.”

She got a whine, and one of the adult Wolves snickered, taking the Cub by the scruff and to the side so such a meal could be provided. 

Looking about with a warm, joyful smile at how the Pack and their litter was doing, Susan scooted around on the warm, loose earth, hands in her lap, the oversized legs of her pants creating a false skirt that needed a bit of resettling, “Tiberion, everyone is looking so wonderful! You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

The Pack Leader looked up from his bone chewing to get at the marrow within, “It’s been a good season, Huntress.”

“Is there anything I can do for you and the Pack?” Susan began massaging the nearest Wolf who had nestled a head in her lap, taking great care to card through the thick fur, checking for any ticks, grooming and affection in one, just as earlier, she had checked everyone’s paws, having applied myrrh and rosehip salves to those whose pads were dry. (It was a bit of tender care delivered simply for the joy of sharing, and the ongoing back and forth thanks and trust they each gave one another.)

“All has been well, Queen Susan,” Neri, the mother of the litter rumbled, her gaze fixed on her Cubs, the fine lips pulling into the smile of a well pleased mother. A few sniffs were wuffed at Susan though, and the Wolf’s head tilted, ear swivel flicking, “Is there anything the Pack can do for you? It’s rare for you to search for the Packs without sending word first. Not that you’re unwelcome, and it is as good to see you as it is to share space...but you have always stood upon much ceremony.”

One of the others grunted agreement, only two years old, and not quite ready to change packs, or fall fully into any particular role (as an adolescent, a certain amount of speaking or acting out of turn was allowed until a Wolf was ready to take on a specific role for however long), “You bring good smelling things, crunchy treats, news, and stories - you’re Pack to all Packs. Ceremony shouldn’t be needed! There’s always room for you!” The statement was met with a bit of eye rolling, tolerant snorts, but Susan’s pulse fluttered joyfully at the open invite that was extended, not to be retracted, as none of the other Wolves countered him.

Not that she’d ever be so rude as to impose on such a broad welcome unduly. Kindness and acceptance begat the same. And everyone could benefit from those things, as well as remembered manners and politeness. It helped prevent ruffled feathers and too much confusion. Confusion and misunderstandings were all too easy to come by, even amongst shared races and species types... So politeness, empathy, protocol - those were necessary and shouldn’t be put aside willynilly. 

Even if this time she _had_ come by without first sending word...

_Best not to make a habit of it, then._

Sighing, Susan watched her hands as they moved through fur, chewing her lip, she accepted their offer in this, and admitted her discomfort, “It’s nothing really, just feeling...hunted. Trapped.”

That got every nearby Wolf’s attention, their heads all lifting and gazes focused on her with absolute intensity, their bodies held still, tight and ready. 

Tiberion’s voice lowered from a growl initially and sank to a snarl, “Who dares hunt the Wild Huntress? You who defended us, defends us, and granted us freedom in this new age - my Pack will gladly do what must be to grant you the same freedom.”

“No, no, it’s not...not quite like that,” Susan flopped her hands in her lap, quickly reassuring them all. “The males in my life chase and make displays I’ve no desire for. Most of them are probably perfectly nice, but I look at them, and only see...” Searching for an applicable term, “Very weak omegas vying for a place where they’d never fit nor function properly. They only catch scent of me, see my place within the hierarchy, and believe that if they can win my favour, their lives will be secured. I’m a prize to them that they can never reciprocate or contribute, they will gain everything, while, if I deigned to take them, would gain only a useless burden.” Really, that was what it was like, and Susan despised that, yet there were vaster concerns. Ones that affected _all_ Narnians, even those who hadn’t signaled a desire to rejoin the society, the pack basically, and contribute. “But I _can’t_ send them away, because my role is to hold their attention so they don’t think to threaten the kingdom and our people. I must...play decoy to keep them from the den. I just don’t like it, and it’s tiresome, leaving me feeling lonely and trapped...helpless, really. It just got to be too much yesterday, so I broke, and have fled for a short time before I must return to my vigilant post.”

“You’re not ready to mate. It will be you who chooses who you allow near and how many, whatever games they play,” Neri snorted her nod. “And if they’re all weak, then they’re far beneath you, beneath even your notice. If you can’t send them away, then you should have a Pack to work with you, harry and dissuade, when they press too close. You’ve guards, but you are more like us, furless one, you need _Pack_ with you.”

“Oh, Edmund does that fairly well,” her smile rueful. “He’s always getting into fights. I really wish he’d stop that, it just causes more problems. Ugh, males can be very silly.” Glancing at Tiberion, she reached out to scritch his neck because he had worked himself closer, “Well, _human_ males can be utterly useless. Even if they’re a High King.”

Agreeable snorts and grunts, the den returning to easy sounds and quiet, everyone being reassured that a Packmate was alright, and she had a feeling that someday soon, at least one or two Wolves would come to share time with her. Later, a long walk in the surrounding area, yielded good forage for a snack, and Susan collected what she found in a fold of skirt, content with the peacefulness. Haz-fath, a Wolf adopted from a region closer to Calormen, kept her company. And kept guard on her too, the brown and dusty grey coated Wolf was alert, but comfortingly calm. The light of the moon was sufficient for Susan’s eyes, even in the woods, as the moon was bright, full, like an enormous marble pearl, so large she would swear that if she were on the wing, she could reach out to touch it, and the den was close to a stream that had thinned some of the trees, allowing plenty of light to spill through spread finger branches. Wolf-song was raised as many in the Pack readied to hunt, and Susan tipped her own face to the sky overhead, listening to the sounds that once had terrified her so, but now were merely a form of communication and communion, an ethereal song that spoke to her. No sound came from her own throat; even if she sometimes hungered to add her own voice, but she felt it would be presumptuous...still, vocal cords flexed, no matter how no breath was added to that passage. 

Let others find such fierceness frightening or unladylike. Let others feel that living in luxury was the ultimate of freedom and joy. Let others believe that the weight of a crown was light and power was easy to wield... Susan may enjoy fine things, but it was out here, with the people, among them, and not behind walls, gilt, and titles, that Susan found freedom, strength, and the true worth of her inner self.

This was her Narnia and where she belonged.

... **Flower in the Wind**

Edmund noted that there were a good deal many more of Susan’s favoured Animals about of late. The last weeks since her random appearing flight from Cair Paravel and court, unescorted or without word - which she never did before - more Creatures had come, changing the concentration from omnivorous, herbivorous, or humanoid mixed Narnians, to more predators. (Ed didn’t mind one bit, it kept the human guests a bit more civil.) Everywhere she went, at least one Wolf, Cat, Eagle, or Gryphon accompanied her. They slinked and moved with the various types of grace each was characterized by, the lights of Cair Paravel dancing and blending over coats. Suddenly many of the buggers that had always pestered her the most with their arrogant behaviour or foolhardy hands, found that they had other things to do more and more often. The Wolf, Haz-fath was very good at looking aggravated, lazily menacing, a very fine deterrent to most of those thinking Susan was a pretty prize that would net accolades, dowry, power, land... He particularly liked when the Wolf would partially drape over Susan’s lap like he were just a small Cub seeking contact, while the expression directed to any who came too close, signaled that limbs would be snapped at with those wicked teeth of his for crowding him. All of it was in counterpoint to Susan’s always outgoing and kind manner, a public facade that was true, yes, but only a small piece of her... The contrast of the seemingly gentlest and sweetest of maidens being so free with superbly dangerous predators had a marvelous effect, all without ruffling anyone’s feathers, or at least not in any manner that the offended could complain about without making themselves into a universal target for mockery. (Which meant none with a speck of brain made those complaints, they simply retreated enough to give Susan some bloody space.)

In any event, he watched her go through the expected motions, and Edmund kept his unhappy frown from his features whenever he spied Peter making his own advances. Months of being turned away, and still Peter was persistent. Edmund wondered if his brother even _wanted_ Susan, it wasn’t like Peter had ceased entertaining his own mistress _du jour_. (Susan, like any person, had needs, and if a man angling to be her husband wasn’t going to honour the fact that there were many layers to a union, even a **political** one, then it was a farce to even bother trying.) It would be funny if he asked the High King about the frequent rotating in and out women, just to have his own flurry of bright rainbow skirts that even the maids wore that he was usually found head, hand, or hip deep in on frequent occasions brought up. (Never let it be said that even the serving classes of Narnia - all of it, not just the lone kingdom itself - were left grey and dreary like that distant, dull life that seemed to have taken place eons ago.) Except Edmund wasn’t pursuing Susan, so it wasn’t hypocritical for him to find a bit of fun. After all, Peter was trying to _prove_ and _show_ interest - bit hard to do that if _all_ his needs were already being well met. 

Now, it wasn’t like Edmund was unaware of Susan, or ever had been as long as he’d eyes to see and a pulse remotely like a man’s. Nor was he unaffected by her. It was just...Susan shared with him something she didn’t share with others. That was special, and worth a lot more than risking being lumped in with every other male that couldn’t see anything other than the shape of her face, her body, and forgot all else. (Yes, she was beautiful physically, but there was something that really and truly did radiate from her that intensified all of her. _Alright, perhaps Aslan wasn’t off His leonine head to call her Radiant. Eyes like a diamond mine, deep and bright inside... Yes._ ) Besides, she was the one who still believed in him even when he couldn’t find any worthiness in himself on his own, and her disappointment had been a terrible blow, but it was only with time that he understood it was because she believed in him and truly felt he was better than those actions. That disappointment had been more about her showing that he had caused pain rather than intended to wound _him_ , no the disappointment had been a plea for him to listen and be whatever she believed him to really be instead, to pull him from that poisonous brink. No matter what she had felt back then, she believed in him, and wished to keep him safe as well in her own way, to go with her acceptance. Susan was the only one safe for him to turn to when the guilt and blackness tried to overtake him, or when nightmares of could-have-beens assailed him. No, he wouldn’t risk losing that just to express the fact that the way she lit up as she laughed at something made him want to kiss her breathless. Or the fact that she always chewed her lip and tugged her left earring with a full frown when she was getting to a good part in her reading - that when she was absorbed like that, that Edmund felt glad that it was his office she would hie off to hide in. It was one of the few places no one ever thought to search for her, a quiet place, and what little conversation they shared there, was easy, without his usual cutting. That he could provide some scrap of safety that wasn’t just that purchased by his strength of arm, intellect, blood, or sweat, was as priceless a gift as the refuge he gained in her.

As for all things, balls were the worst, half his dance partners wore too much cloying scent, giggled in bright shards, and eyed him like a choice piece of meat. At least the women didn’t shower him with gifts meant to make him feel obligated to pay them more intense attention. He was careful to not give them anything either - even handing one a drink could cause him grief as they vied for his favour which brought them prestige, rather than actually vie for _him_. His time wasn’t something they thought they could buy with items, they, in fact, expected some signal. (This was, of course, better than them hounding him, and Ed wasn’t so idiotic as to look askance at such serendipity.) Swirling, sliding, gliding dance steps carried he and his present partner through the circles, dips, and the rare lift here and there, and as he passed Susan for the ninth or ninetieth time, her perpetual kind, regal smile was affixed, Edmund winced internally. That was a smile she bore when she desperately wished to put someone in their place, call them out, or just be shut of someone, but couldn’t do it without feeling a bit of guilt over the fact that people just tended to be ignorant...so would suffer until she found some other way to win free without bruising egos or causing undue strife. 

That was Edmund’s cue though, signalling that it was time to trade out. Swishing switch, easily passing off his partner, Dema or something from the Archenland border, and Edmund stretched his toes in his boots briefly before moving to cut in on Susan’s current dance. 

Cheeky grin, the awareness that the man couldn’t say no, not to a brother, not to a man of superior rank, and definitely not to a host - _Bit out of order there, mate, still, not so important, so long as the sodder can’t say ‘no’, right?_ \- Edmund clapped the Galman’s shoulder, “‘Scuze me, chap, that’s my sister you’ve got there, trampling her toes. Why don’t you let me do that for a bit instead?”

Susan gave him a relieved, amused look, her graceful long fingered hands quickly lifting away from her present partner so she could grant the Galman a regal, but very dismissive, nod. “Do continue to enjoy the ball, Sir Antoine.” Just like that, she was taking Edmund’s hand, the callouses of her fingers different from his hilt gained ones, “It’s good to see you, Ed.”

And then they were off. 

For Susan, Edmund was fleet and graceful of foot. Dance lessons with she and a bunch of satyrs, alcohol flowing freely, and pipes filled with pungent, green smelling and tasting herbs, had done a great deal for his ability to fight. Of the Pevensies, only Lucy could truly keep up with fauns at play, but himself was a close second, Susan a third, and for himself and the High Queen, it all translated to an overall nimbleness that was rare in humans. And so, for Susan, Edmund swung, lifted, and helped her glide, leaping himself, using leverage and balance, the pendulum cast back and forth, as they could relax into the fun of the wild forests, glens, and dales, that the cloven hooved Narnians had shared with them. Those dances to learn were well employed at the ball, the fauns’ music weaving the magic so that even though they weren’t back in those pastoral moments, a bit of the feeling still found them as he and Susan were carried by the sounds and bits of memory.

Shoulders dusted with a few little freckles were round and bare to the air by her bright teal dress, mock sleeves fastened above her biceps with trailing ribbons that fluttered after the current fashion. There were more of the pale beige, almost pink, spots on his sister’s shoulders than he remembered from her last shoulder baring dress. The dress was cut so low, that all that kept her breasts remotely covered, was a bit of her pale, pale, powder blue chemise, as the corset trapped and lifted everything else up. He knew well that there was also a bit of skin friendly linen and glue that prevented true slippage, but others were unaware that propriety wouldn’t be lost accidentally. It added to the spice of dancing with her, Edmund was sure...a calculated and distracting spice, too...even for himself if he allowed his gaze to stray much. Around them the air was filled with music and the sounds of revelry, the lanterns adding a hazy quality to their surroundings. It was late and Edmund had seen Tumnus take Lucy to be tucked in after the first hour or two of actual revelry after the meal was had. Their little sister wasn’t a child anymore, but bedtime stories, play, and early bedtimes were still craved. Truthfully, Edmund suspected Lucy wished to stay little as long as possible to put off being turned to a game piece, a bargaining chip on the grand board, the way Susan was. Beautiful, quietly wild Susan, who had tucked and hidden a yawn by laying her head on his shoulder, everything in her outward guise a scintillating star meant to maintain attention on her so no other must bear the burden she did.

“Did you at least wear sturdy, comfortable shoes this time?” he asked, slipping his arm tighter around her waist, hitching it to take more of her weight, lightening her load as the current song was a slower one, which allowed Susan to rest subtly after the exertions.

(Men who dared the athletic moves would believe such changes in the pace, tone, and content of the songs was to benefit themeselves after having displayed such vigor. Edmund knew the variations were more so the women in their heavy clothes, tight corsets, and often painful footwear, could rely on hobble-swaying for a bit to gain some rest. Susan had explained it to him once during more sedate lessons on dance that he had attended, because Pete was too busy in meetings...besides, the High King, while proficient on battlefield, was barely passable on a dance floor. Too much trying to fly and lift and vault, that he forgot feet needed to be on the floor, so, over ambitious, would wind up with his whole person on said floor, with his poor partner in need of help rising herself... _Nah, he’s not that bad, needs a few drinks, then he’s fine. At least that’s when his feet remember what to do, while his brain wanders. Su’s right to ‘worry’ about him sometimes, I think._ )

All in all, corsets, petticoats, and skirts, were a great deal heavier than most realized, but Edmund knew firsthand, as when dressed at her simplest, she was barely nine stone - and only that much, because she was more muscle than anything else. But in formal dress Susan could easily top ten to twelve stone. Once, she had even been weighed down to over a hundred and eighty pounds, but that event had resulted in a drastic fashion change, as she refused to suffer through that again. (And Edmund was glad, as he’d had to do so much of the carting her around that night too...) Susan, for most balls, wore anywhere from twenty to thirty pounds of clothing, and depending on what regalia she had donned, that could add another five to fifteen right there. Compared to his boots, heavily embroidered trews, under tunic, doublet, and weapons, Susan may as well be dressed for war. (Worse, there were actual formal dresses that were meant to be worn _over_ a forty to seventy pound chainmail dress for protection. He still couldn’t fathom that idea, let alone how a woman, even one as physically fit and strong as Susan, was supposed to move around gracefully, let alone _dance_ or mingle in so much!)The hours of preparation were as bad as being wrestled and locked into full jousting armour, except armour was a little less confining (except when the loo was needed, but that was another matter.) Then again, he could be wrong in that too, as Susan often dipped away to the privy with a couple female Narnians of one sort or another, probably to help hold skirts and clean up afterwards... By Aslan’s Breath, Edmund was frequently overjoyed to have been born male - he’d go insane if he’d had to suffer through all that as bloody often as Susan did. _Hell, we should run off for a few days so she can wear pants and cloth breast binds instead of the prison of this getup..._ Yet it did make her that much more beautiful, enough to make anyone who desired women in the slightest, to go dry mouthed and sweaty palmed.

...Though out of a queen’s expected dress, and in something comfortable, Susan was still breathtaking... As breathtaking as a mountain stream turned to wild river with spring’s snow melt; or witnessing Hawks in mating flights, or...or just about anything that was wild and free could be breathtaking. Too bad Edmund wasn’t above getting a little stupid over Susan, too. But she called to that part of him, the darkness, the wildness, and reminded those parts of empathy, the humanity, the desire to do right...she called to all that, accepted, stirred it all up, and she knew it. It was always in her gaze, urging him on, accepting him as is, while letting him know she was there, and would listen the way no one else could do. Or would do. (Or maybe, that he would allow to. It was all semantics.) 

“Comfortable, yes, sturdy...well,” Susan sighed, applewine scenting her breath, sugary sweet without being fake, chemical saccharine like that despicable shit Edmund recalled with a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. “They haven’t done much to keep my toes safe. One of these days, I’ll ask them to put metal plates in the toes, and the bottom of the soles so it doesn’t shift and jab me. Maybe _then_ I wouldn’t get tromped... My little toe is still sore from that lout a few balls back that accidentally broke it.” Susan’s complaints lacked heat, they were just rambles, a stream of consciousness released with little filter. If they were in private, chances were, he’d let out a bit of his own, just to see the way her face moved in reactions and thought, some replies verbal, some just expressions... The weight of her head lifted, her gaze fixed on him, and Edmund noticed that someone had embellished her lashes with portions of Eagle feathers, creating an enigmatic and exoticly uninhibited frame for her eyes, “I should like to run away to the garden, Edmund. See the last of the lightning bugs before they go to their sleep... Next ball they’ll be quite gone, what with fall coming...and I’ll so miss their dancing glow. Would you come with me?” Strong hands stroked with familiarity and easiness over his back and shoulder, finding a tight spot Edmund hadn’t noticed until her thumb dug in, loosening it as she asked, “Please?”

“To win free of the squawking conversation and banal tedium - standing around and looking at bugs with glowing arses sounds a sight better than that, I’ll say,” Edmund said fervently, receiving a little smile, falsely aggravated, and a foot ‘kicking’ his ankle.

Any excuse to have left would have been good enough for him, he only stayed as late as he did, because Susan was still there. That she wanted to go on the lam with him at her side was a thousand, million times better than merely taking leave of an uninspiring ball. Well, there would be at least one lady in waiting a bit sad, he would make it up to the woman some other time, so long as she didn’t get all petulant about his having left without her, after having tendered an invitation earlier.

Together, they slipped out, two shadows, two hunters, two trackers, blending easily in the world around them. Much of blending and disappearing anywhere, had to do with a mindset, rather than any sort of magic. Bodies obeyed minds for the most part, and if the mind could be ordered into a particular pattern that said ‘I belong, nothing to see here’, ‘nothing out of place’, a person could easily become part of the scenery, be it crowded street at noon on a market day, or in a forest, stalking deer, or even escaping those who’d do harm. And even if the mind itself didn’t believe it, enough practice, and the body learned what it must... Haz-fath appeared, slinking unobtrusively, but with enough purpose to make himself known, remind them that they weren’t undefended. An extra guard, but unlike most, the Wolf, wouldn’t bother them. Piotr always wound up shouldering in, like the Leopard couldn’t help it, hungering for attention...then again, he was young still, and Susan was a bit like a mother mixed with catnip for the Creature, the Cat was more friend than guard because of it. As for Haz-fath though, Edmund quite liked the Wolf for the fact that he seemed to genuinely take his duty seriously and cared for Susan as a favourite packmate of higher rank, but needing a bit more involved care. Protector and deterrent, the Wolf followed, an extra set of senses to keep watch so that he and Susan didn’t need to be on guard every moment. It was good to not have to be so vigilant sometimes.

Eventually Susan’s hand slid from where it was tucked in his arm, slipping down his arm in an affectionate caress before it was gone. Edmund barely resisted the urge to catch hold of her hand for a moment longer. Deeper into the winding maze of trails, boughs, ridges, boxes, planters that filled the fantastically created false wilderness that was part of the garden they had entered, shoes on gravel and the night was filled with plant smells and moisture, with just enough light from the sky and what was shed by Cair Paravel to allow them safe travel. Thick carpeted moss released each of his steps with a gentle give and bounce, and then they came to one of the false grotto ponds that were a playful secret deep within the garden’s design. Susan’s hoped for glowbugs were in swaying evidence to some tune only they heard, as the bull frogs and cicadas were only humming very quietly tonight in mellow, rare counterpoints, rather than their summer customary concert as the temperature continued its inexorable downward trek towards fall, then the garden would be quiet but for Birds in winter. 

Susan came to a halt, then squirm hopped, her arms twisting about behind her, “Edmund, can you help with this? It’s too heavy and I just want the outer bit gone.”

Snapped from the quiet enjoyment of just breathing, existing, Edmund moved to lend a hand, laughter finding him in that way that only happened around his sister, “You know you could’ve just had whichever soldier it was you took a fancy to tag along for this. You’d have at least four falling all over themselves to duel for the chance. Get them a puddle of mud and yourself a chair with some dainties on the side and a goblet of wine - make a show of it.”

A hand lifting up the artfully wild (and completely artificial in its wildness, each ringlet was perfect, sculpted, only a pretend game at having gone free) mass of her hair so he had easier access to the back stays of her overdress, “Flynn was getting clingy, besides, he would have chattered needlessly. And Peter’s been trying to scare him off. Scare any of them off really.” She cast him an amused glance, “But your idea, if I’d wanted to be mobbed, that’s just what I would have done. Since I don’t wish to be mobbed by anyone, be they suitor, lover, or soldier, I’m much happier that you’re the one here.”

Crinkly stiff fabric parted, opening under his fingers as he worked at the fastenings. “You want me to sort them all out?”

“Oh dearest Edmund, much as I appreciate the offer, no, please don’t get in more fights,” she sighed, gaze swinging away from him back to watching her little glowbugs. “Eventually Peter will stop being a pest, so that will be one less poor sot making a boor of himself over me. It’s sad really, I miss being able to talk to him without him looking at me with open assessment. I swear, I could be wearing a giant, shapeless burlap sack, and he’d still be calculating what’s underneath, like he’s assessing a regular horse for a tourney... Probably trying to decide how many babies I can push out before I’m too distracted to do my job.” Another deeper sigh as the dress was loosened enough for him to pry the outermost shell free, “If only there were more men like you, Ed, then I wouldn’t feel so bloody trapped.”

Eyes closing Edmund leaned in to kiss the back of her head, attar of rose and pure jasmine a soft, subtle fragrance in her hair. “Pete just wants to keep you safe, whether it makes him an arse or not. Can’t speak for those other tossers, though.”

“Safe? Locked up you mean, like treasure in a vault, maybe taken out and polished up for a holiday showing, something to brag about a little, oh look, such lovely prestige this bauble brings,” Susan scoffed, leaning back into him, taking his hands to hold around her front. “A piece on the board, but the longer I remain a functional one, the longer he doesn’t have to look for a replacement for the arsenal. In the end, it’s _I_ who is the powerful, mobile queen on the board of our strife, and he, the careful, stodgy, limited king. No matter how many armies he may go to lead, or which of us must stay at Cair Paravel... His movements are curtailed by his burden even more than mine. Perhaps not literally, but figuratively.”

Divested of the outer shell, set aside, they returned to their slow walk about the garden, the night filled with the slow amphibian song layered with cicadas and night birds. Edmund released a few of his own thoughts, even as he mulled over Susan’s assessments, but he heard her longing for freedom and winds in her face that she was only allowed to wrest from duty in brief handfuls of days. He spoke of campaign then, of the arduousness, the bland, the stress of the repetition and the ugly, jangling nerves when action came... Or how he actually preferred sudden, surprise engagements, as there was no time for anxiety. Even if those very engagements were what left scars in his mind afterwards, as the turmoil of emotion didn’t come before or during, but, denied its typical immediate release, all that turmoil would come after - with interest. It was with her hand curling around his, her head cocked, listening, not always looking at him, but she was hearing his words, as he spoke of how difficult it was to rest on campaign, because enough surprises had left him so very wary...until his psyche could no longer keep up, and he instead became numb. Susan’s fingers stroked between his, tangling, and Edmund traced the bones of her hand to find anchoring there. Adventure wasn’t really all that pleasant, no matter how Ed often suspected that he was only real and alive on the field anymore. It was addictive. 

There were periodic pauses for this or that extra skirt to be discarded, until all Susan wore was a very delicate chemise, which wasn’t really much of one. Compared to the typical loose, billowing oversized underdress that provided foundation layers for a woman’s clothes, the pale robin’s egg blue (appearing washed out white in the dark, but he very clearly remembered its shade from what peeked free of her many layers at the ball and how difficult it had been to not follow the ruched up line as it circled her thrust up chest) bore no sleeves, and because of that, was fitted just over the highest point of her breast down to the waist. If it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t have stayed up. Gauzy linen and the hem was raised and hiked high up, tucked into the crisscrossing of drawstring ties that kept it fitted, pale calves revealed. Edmund watched, Susan happily distracted by scrunching toes and dancing in place to some private song she heard, a flower floating on a gust of wind. For a fleeting fancy moment, Edmund imagined wings on her back, torn betwixt Eagle, Gryphon or...silly, fragile, but colourfully mad, butterfly wings. It was a quick flicker, cycled through in his mind’s eye, all pleasing to him, before they were set aside as quirks of his strange imagination.

Hand in her hair to hold it back from her face, Susan looked back at him, the filtered light showing the curve of her smile, “Talk to me some more Ed.”

Dryly, “You could cause a whole new fashion if you were seen. There’d be no more war, every man would be too busy by being struck dumb to do much else other than stare at every woman dressed so.”

Laughter spilled free, the seriousness of their earlier conversation released to the wind - she had danced it away for him like a witch calling down rain. “Oh, it’d get rather cold, Ed!”

Glancing back the way they had come, there was a trail of material, pale against the dark cultivated moss, he raised a brow, “Which layer should I fetch so there’s no risk you’ll catch cold yourself?”

Hands slid over his back, threading and slipping under his arms to wrap around his chest, and Susan was pressed up against him, leaning and she must be up on her toes so that her chin could hook over his shoulder the way it was. “I’m not worried, you’re plenty warm enough, you’ll rescue me from it.”

“Really? Sounds a bit silly to me, Su,” his heart picked up speed, and Edmund took her hand, shifting it from his chest, to the side, so she wouldn’t feel the rapid thumping. Thumb resuming its own game of making shapes, mapping the bones that had been made strong by her archery, “Not sure why I’d go to that length over such an easy foe. I prefer a challenge, bit of nudity and chill just isn’t much of one, I’m afraid.”

Lips near his ear, Ed was tugged and yanked back enough as she really went to her toes, her other hand reaching up to caress his face as she did very occasionally, “A challenge you want, Edmund, and it’s one I’ll issue to you - catch me and I’ll tell you why you’d do it.”

Fast as a darting fish, as his sucked in breath that wished to cry out for the loss of contact, Susan was off. Splashes as her feet struck the manicured banks of the little false stream - Susan was the Hind and he found himself the hunter for once, no matter he had earlier disparaged their goal, it was suddenly his own. It was hide and go seek, a twist behind a tree, a popping hop around a rock sculpture... Edmund wanted to drive straight through, but he also wished to prolong Susan’s game as it brought those particularly special, lilting laughs from her with corresponding smiles twisting his own features, even startling some of his own genuine laughter to burst free of him. Their path eventually led back to the hidden grotto, and he looked around, frowning as he picked up the fresh flutter of fabric that was on the ground - _Her chemise?_ It was still warm from contact with her body, and he shuddered, catching the scent of sweat, perfume, tantalizing and tempting when coupled with the rapidly fading warmth in the fabric.

Fingers at the nape of his neck, how could he have forgotten how silently she could move? Where had she been? It didn’t matter, he was caught, her bare feet and the game was one she played with the Animals of all terrains, leaving her mostly, or completely, nude form as soundless as an Owl striking in a field. Misdirection and distraction, the best tools in a predator’s arsenal, were her allies and favoured playmates, followed by her senses and skillfully soft movements, that, like the Owl’s wings, were so soft so that no sound could be made out. “Got you,” her fingers continuing to slide up and down the vertebrae of his neck, flat nails pressing in briefly, as she whispered her successful claim.

“I thought I was supposed to hunt you, Su,” he didn’t glance back, because he didn’t want to know if she was in bloomers or not, it would have been more than he could take, neither the disappointment nor temptation. “So, what do you win, since I failed your challenge?”

“I’m chilly, Ed,” Susan’s voice delicate, private and fit only to reach his ears, and Edmund could smell the hint of sweat wafting from her skin itself from their play, the perfume she wore having turned musky with the effort and the swath of unclothed flesh, his senses telling him she was leaning over him in a curl, like a bowing tree, though he’d not yet dared look. 

“You want me to rescue you?” he still didn’t look back, his gaze sweeping the garden before them, Edmund needed to be certain before he could let himself do so.

Fingers curled around the back of his neck, “Always,” and Edmund rose swiftly, easily remaining within that gentle grasp, the lone word of affirmation everything he had ever needed to hear, echoed by her curved form filling his arms, pressing and pulling close.

When they kissed, she tasted of crisp apples, rosewater laced tea, crunchy cucumbers, watercress and leafy mint... When Edmund kissed Susan, he tasted home, the best of home, the safest place and he cradled her even closer, his hold firm but easily escaped, for neither of them should be caged. When Susan kissed him, the world fell silent, there was nothing else, not even the beat of his heart, just the sensation of full lips and wet tongue, hands mapping his back through his shirts, and his own finding the sweet curve of damp, lush muscular flesh sweeping to bare full hips, the heart-shaped round of her rump and back up the way his hands had traversed as he stroked her in languid and long passes. When his mouth parted from hers, Susan’s followed swiftly, pressing another kiss to him, and Edmund could only squeeze her tighter. When he kissed her, he hoped she tasted his thankfulness the way he could taste her love in strange layers that blended the many threads of the human heart’s fibers together into a woven thing. When it ended, it was only because it must, and the world breathed once again.

...And in the space between the world’s breaths, they each drew their own, pulling air from the one even as they gifted their own to the other, as the world existed, so too, did they, but long before the dawn they parted, and everything within creation sighed...

... **Joyful in the Midst of Nightmare**

Haz-fath had left for the night, traded out for Piotr, the beautiful snow Leopard, who always tried to be so dignified. But Susan knew he was just an overgrown kitten, scooting and hopping into her bed with her, half draped, and looking for a good petting. Susan loved the way his fur felt, it was fluffy soft without a hint of wiry stiffness. He’d been her friend for years, they’d almost grown up together in a way. Leopards may be nocturnal for the most part, but Susan liked it best when he let her use him as an overgrown pillow cum stuffed toy, mostly because he was comfortable, but also, because, when he slept, he purred like a tireless motor. Besides, his keen senses, and how his nocturnal nature dictated that, even though he was sleeping, it was light, Piotr made a perfect companion and guard. 

Purring, his head rubbing scent over her blanket covered hip, “You’re happier than usual, Kitten.” The clues to her mood were listed, “Toes scrunching your covers, like a nursing kitten at its mother’s nipple, or any contented Cat. Your nose twitches with your invisible whiskers, and you squirm, ready for a pounce, firmly repressed.” Then there was a sniffing at her briefly, mouth open, so that the internal sinuses could fully analyze what they picked up, “Excitement and sleepy warmth, like Cubs the day just before their first exploration outside the strict, safe confines of their birth den, fattened to sleepiness on milk and meat, but fighting it in favour of wondering about the next day, safe and happy in their space.” 

“Haz-fath pointed something out that I hadn’t noticed,” fingers of one hand plunging into the voluptuously dense fur on Piotr’s belly, scrunching and smoothly tugging in deep stroking pets, Piotr’s litany of cues always helped make Susan more aware of herself, but also just sounded like a sweet chant of rumbling white noise to ease her to sleep... They may practically be littermates by the Cat’s logic, but he had taught her to trust her senses and _use **all**_ of them, as well as the very, very vital skill of knowing what she was broadcasting to others. 

Meanwhile, Susan may have taught him about hats and dresses and piling him up with pretty baubles during her occasional flights of fancy that still claimed her time to time.

Within the safety of her chambers, broadcasting without filter or thought, was good. A calm place to be, at least mostly if not fully, herself, sometimes shared with another for a few hours or through the night. As the snowy, spotted Cat recited what he saw, sensed, tasted, smelled, and heard, Susan was made aware of each little thing...and because they were all wonderful, good, perfect things, that increased awareness of her attention being drawn, reinforced those feelings manyfold.

“The Puppy noticed something?” amused, a paw twice the size of her own whole hand, with many more fingers than a housecat would bear, was draped and stretched towards her own that was farthest from him, the wicked ivory of his claws well sheathed as he batted her fingers.

“Hmn-hmn, and I tested to see if he was right,” Susan sighed. “I really should be more put out with Ed for having hidden that from me for so long, such a bother!”

“The last of the Turkish Delight?” asking, as her brother had a penchant for doing that, but only if it was she who made the sweet, otherwise he wouldn’t touch the stuff. Bad memories.

“Oh that my best friend has feelings for me,” eyes rolling and she snorted, a laugh coming free.

Every soldier she had taken had some quality that reminded her of Edmund. It was a funny measuring stick, but once she realized it after Haz-fath had first pointed out that little observation, Susan had suddenly seen it everywhere in all the men she actually didn’t mind keeping company with. Calloused hands, thick wrists, a feline glide to a walk - those were minimum requirements. If she couldn’t get dark hair, navy nighttime eyes, and deep pensive looks, Susan would look for other qualities. Mostly she looked for nonphysical traits, though she had a particular preference for dark hair, Archenlanders didn’t have much of it, and Calormenes tended to be a little difficult at times, while dry humour, cutting wit, devilish mind, those were mandatory - looks themselves were just trappings. It was exceedingly strange to realize that she looked for someone for so long who fit her at all, when Edmund had always been there already. Alright, it was true that if she had looked to Edmund himself for that as soon as she had begun searching for male companionship, that would have been most...inappropriate due to circumstance and his age, as, it was very, very shortly after they were all crowned, that Susan had begun vetting the underlings of the many tiresome noblemen sent to woo her. Besides, at that age, Ed had just been a scraggly, scrappy thing of no interest in that manner, so if anyone had pointed out that Susan had started right off choosing male companions who bore his qualities...she’d have laughed, then privately been mortified.

Her statement got a sleepy, curious grunt, and Susan snorted, because both she and Piotr who prided themselves on observational skills, had missed all the many, many signs her brother displayed... “Edmund.”

A pale, pale blue grey eye that would often darken to a shade almost identical to her own, slid open to focus on her, “And what will be done about it?” 

Now that was a good question. 

They would have to be careful, for ever so many reasons, ones she wished she could disregard or change, but knew that was just how life was. Susan knew Narnia’s best defense was to be multifaceted, with layers of fallback plans. The endless, stifling amount of suitors, that was one of the more obvious bits. But there would come a time when Narnia would have to make a true demonstration of Susan showing more direct interest, to travel outside of safe borders, and into the den of potential allies and enemies. Peter wouldn’t be able to accompany her for obvious reasons - to risk a High Queen was bad enough, but she would be a hostage that no one would realize had her own abilities to win free. To risk the High _King_ would be national suicide. Peridan was a good escort, and would do for many cases, but Edmund was the better choice all around. Potential dangers would be at last wary of acting in his presence, as they knew he was dangerous, but also reasonable, compared to overly noble Peridan who took every affront or impropriety as something he was duty bound to pound/duel some sense into the perpetrator... Some would discount Ed though, but none would dare to discount him _too_ much. If it got out that they had more than just sibling protectiveness, then his suitability as chaperone and defender would be discarded, and leave her without the best support and friend she’d ever had the privilege of having. 

Maybe it was sad that Susan dismissed the option of public declaration and union, but she was pragmatic. Recusing herself from the gameboard meant the slack would have to be picked up elsewhere. And she wouldn’t let another take her burdens in this, so even if other parties wouldn’t take it as grievous injustice and affront for her to take a younger man as spouse (really, what right did other parties have to be insulted that she chose someone that wasn’t them?) Susan couldn’t escape the aggravation that way. Outside forces would consider Peter a logical and acceptable choice, even if they didn’t like the removal of potential winnings that her being married off would cause. In a few more years, she was certain it would all settle, but Narnia was only recently back on the stage of the world, and so had to take care to not be perceived as vulnerable. Considering that it was a kingdom with few humans (those that had moved in permanently, were ones descended from refugees, like Peridan, whose ancestors had taken refuge in neighbouring kingdoms during Jadis’ hunt and reign) and peopled by the myriad of intelligent Creatures, and ruled by _four_ monarchs who were all quite young... No, it would be a few more years before the other countries would stop looking at them all so intently.

Later, having fallen asleep to such thoughts, Susan awoke from nightmare, a cold sweat of fear leaving her shaking and clinging to Piotr. Rasping licks to her cheek and shoulder helped, but the tenuous and shadowed nightmare clung, not to be banished. Finally giving up, Susan donned a nightdress and robe. Edmund’s study was a frequent place to hide such nights, the quiet in that place was a hush that cocooned her, dissuading any invader. It was the one place no one ever thought to look for her except her personal guards. The sette there with its throw would be a safe haven where she could be bundled up and not worry at all.

Bare feet didn’t even whisper as she stepped lightly, fleeing to that quiet safety, the door opening and closing behind her on well cared for hinges. No one had seen Susan, she was too experienced in slipping away for that, especially so late at night. Leaning her forehead against the deep sworled mahogany door, Susan released a sigh. Piotr had only nosed her to her own bedroom’s door, knowing where she would flee and left her to it. 

“Susan?” it was concerned, and Edmund’s voice had her turning around quickly to see Edmund moving from his place by the window, dressed down to leggings and undertunic. 

Without thought, Susan was in his arms, the impact driving him back a dancing half step, hands at her waist to steady them both, and she was pressing her lips to his. Cupping his head, Susan leaned up, seeking the taste of mead and oranges. As the other time, it was long, languorous, and she got lost in it, the sound of his breathing, the soft sound of their contact. 

Settling herself up against him, “I didn’t think you’d be awake, Ed.”

Cheek tucked against hers, head dipped, hands splayed over her back, “Stuff to think about. That expedition from Calormen, trade agreements from the fauns of Derring seeking to ship goods... Boring, dry, but good enough to get me to sleep without dreams.”

Eyes closed, Susan listened to his voice, the knot in her stomach easing, “What dreams do you want to avoid?”

“It’s not so much that I want to avoid them,” was answer enough coupled with the tightening of his arms about her. 

“If the stuffy documents would keep away nightmares, I may just have to try my hand at that, too,” Susan sighed nuzzling him, lips to his jaw.

An amused teasing offer, “Maybe I should check under the bed, behind the curtains, in the closet, for you? Chase off the boggles-butts. It works for Luce.”

Susan pulled back, looking towards the closet door she knew masked the entrance to his quarters. “Actually...if your bed’s not full, I think I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

“It won’t be empty for long,” he agreed, releasing her and snuffed the lamps except for one small lantern.

Taking his hand, Susan tucked herself in close as they went through the closet, the false sidewall sliding to allow them through. After the shortcut of the passage was exited, the smell of sharp orange peels, limes, bay leaves and basil was sweetened slightly by a hint of ylang-ylang and black pepper, as there were plates whose contents were filled with dried and fresh plant material that was replaced often dotting the quietly appointed rooms. The door that went from the bedroom to the sitting room was closed firmly, and Edmund went to check that the bolt was slid home, the rooms given a last going over while she shed her robe, clambering under the faded blue-green bed linens. Her brother joined her shortly just as she had gotten comfortable, drowsily watching him as every door was checked, his weapons set to the side, hanging them at angles from the bedpost so they could be grabbed easily.

Susan reached out as soon as he lay down, undoing the short tail his hair had been tied back into, garnering a snorted ‘hey!’ as the waving curls fell free, but she just smiled at him. Scooting so they shared a single pillow, Susan looked at Edmund, really looked. Familiar features she had known so long, when had all those freckles disappeared? When had his eyes become such a murky brown tinted navy that swirled into mystery, impenetrable? And whomever broke his beautiful nose should be punished...except it gave him a pleasant roughness to his countenance.

“What?” one of his well defined, crow’s wing slanted brows twitched upwards curiously as he prompted her.

“Your freckles are all gone.” Susan was a little sad they had vanished, but sometimes that’s how things went - what with all the sun he got, if they were sun triggered, he’d be covered a thousand times more than she was. “There’s nary a one on your face, I wager any others you’d accumulated have up and disappeared too...”

The thickened pad of his index finger went over her forehead, cheeks, nose, then down the line of her neck to her clavicles, pushing her gown open to see the dusting over her shoulders, and a little peek further down to where she knew her breasts bore at least a slight smattering. “Looks like you got all mine, Su. How many do you think there are?”

Tucking her hand under her cheek, the other rubbing his gauzy linen covered side, she snorted a giggle, “ _So_ many.”

“How many’s that, Su? I didn’t know that’s a number,” laughter in the back of his throat, not fully realized, but it made Edmund’s words dance, warm, sending a thrill through Susan, she was the only one who got to experience that facet of Ed.

“ _Soooooo_ many, lots of many, Ed,” she huffed in mock aggravation. “They just crop up! Little carroty splotch dots, I don’t think they can be counted, there’s just too many. If I wanted to depress myself, I’d check in the mirror to see if my rump’s got any, and I bet it does...I knew I shouldn’t have gone sunbathing with the naiads on the bank... Bunch of hedonistic nudists.”

Sighing as his full mouth pressed to her shoulder, Susan walked her fingers up and down his back, comfortable right where she was. Slickness, a gentle scrape of teeth had her hitching a breath, nipples twisting erect and there was a coiling low in her belly, Edmund drawing her in closer, and Susan smiled into the night. Muscles shifted under her hand and against where they pressed, the vitality and flexibility of form was comforting and safe. She wanted to be closer, to feel more, but Susan was also tired. Mostly she just wanted to explore the familiar and discover what it was that had been there so long that she had wanted but didn’t think to ask for... 

“They look better on you than they did on me anyway,” between lip stroking kisses over her neck and face. 

Rolling Edmund to his back, she draped herself over his chest partially, peppering kisses over him in retaliation. “But there’s too many!”

They rolled back and forth, playing under the light blankets. Outside the summer was turning to fall with chilly temperatures, but inside it was just right. And under the blankets with Edmund, it was perfect. A nip or kiss here or there, a hand wiggling to tickle a sensitive spot, and they shivered, shuddered with their quiet snickers and laughs. Slowing as they became truly tired, Susan let him know he could touch her however he wanted, sucking his groan down as he fondled her breast firmly over her nightdress. For her, it was the musculature of his own chest, her hand having squirmed under his tunic to feel the thin layer of fat over the sinew and muscle. It was blissful, and she knew what she would think on later tomorrow, with her hand between her thighs - pressing closer, leg sliding over his, Susan tugged him flush, the hardness there straining his fabric...she knew what he would think on later, too.

Bottom cupped to keep her close, hard ridge a tantalizing temptation, one that made her wonder if she had more energy, Susan wriggled in the midst of a yawn. She didn’t, and it was time for sleep anyway, sad as that was. The next day would be lazy, as most any was after grand revelry. They had time to figure out more if it needed thinking over. 

... **Good Mood for Escape**

“You’re in a good mood lately,” Pete commented after their sparring session, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Last few weeks really, find yourself someone who’ll tolerate you more than a few nights?”

Edmund snagged the ladle from the bucket, downing a good sized drink before upending the last of the ladle’s contents over his head. He didn’t say anything, knowing Pete was just probing for information. A little known fact was that the High King was a terrible gossip. Probably stemmed from the feeling that he had to know everything going on so he could better protect the kingdom and its people, but it _did_ make Pete a bit intolerable sometimes. Nosy, gossipy, nattering...if Peter wasn’t so caring or likeable, it would be easy to imagine him gone rogue and becoming a totalitarian dictator. Fortunately, those qualities were tempered by honour and a great deal of love for others.

“Yea,” he finally grunted, raking fingers through his now wet short black hair.

“Oh, well, don’t rush to tell me everything all at once,” his fellow monarch said, exasperated, and putting aside his practice weapons. 

Pete’s pale blue eyes looked around the outdoor practice yard, the gravel was unkind footing, which made it excellent for recreating the treacherousness of a battlefield. Which was why Edmund had insisted it be installed, against Peter’s complaints. The High King was a very proficient fighter, but his position prevented him from the many hours a day that Edmund devoted to furthering his own skills. In the long run, Edmund would always be a dozen steps ahead in that space. Tactically the hope was that anyone who made it past Edmund would be so battered, that Peter would have an easy enough time dispatching the foe. It was how things were to go when real border wars started...when, not if. Edmund was all too aware that someone would attack eventually, and he had to be in top form to counter it. Brief skirmishing feints and raids were only little exploratory jabs that would some day turn to more solid strikes...just not today.

“Say, I’ve a question,” Edmund tried to hide his smirk. “How’s things going on your warfront with Su?”

A sour look was shot his way, “She hasn’t spoken to me in weeks outside of necessary public conversation.”

“Maybe you should stop chasing her like a hound after a squirrel,” he suggested. “If you want her to grow to hate you, Peter, you’re doing a jolly good job of it. As it is, she’s beginning to not trust any of your judgements. Daily, your opinion loses more and more weight, and that could lead to divisiveness - which we can’t afford, you know.”

His brother’s gaze swung back to him, narrowing, “I’m sure you’re blowing it out of proportion, Edmund.” Peter eyed him a moment longer, “What’s she said to you?”

Leaning against the wall where the racks of blunted practice weapons were, arms crossed, and a leg crossed over the other at the ankle, booted toes gouging the gravel, he raised amused brows, “Not much. But you should know she’s renamed her practice dummy ‘Peter’. Lots of shots straight to the groin, with more than the usual force...” Edmund couldn’t help a snicker, “You’re making a bigger impression than that chap from that little island in the southern sea.” 

That particular fellow had found out that the Gentle Queen had no tolerance for any man attempting to make free with her person uninvited... And he’d found out the hard way. With an arrow shoved through his leg - _by hand_. Edmund hadn’t ever considered using an arrow, which, when not in flight obeying physics, was a fairly flimsy sort of weapon. The effort and torque necessary to use it like a common stiletto was actually rather distressing to consider. Sure, through a nice soft target like an eye, mouth, or throat, but a muscular _thigh_? It really was too bad Susan wrinkled her nose at the very suggestion she learn how to hold a sword. One of these days he’d manage to talk her at least into dirty knife tricks, she loved dirty brawler tricks, they were so unexpected in such a dainty, ladylike personage as herself. 

_Probably why she likes them,_ the thought making him grin.

Peter winced, dragging a hand through his blond hair, “You needn’t look so happy about that, Ed.” He sighed, “What’s she want? You know, grease the way so to speak. An aviary? You think that would smooth her ruffled feathers?”

Sarcastically, arms uncrossing, “Or you could build her a ship. Or a hospital. Or a huge garden. Or, bear with me, maybe leave her alone? That could go over well you know. She’s not some foreign diplomat or merchant you need to buy favours from, she’s a person, she’s the High Queen, and barely a step below you in rank. You’re supposed to work together, not antagonize her to the point that a schism forms.”

“That’s right, she is the High Queen, Ed, and I’m the High King,” Peter said firmly. “It just makes the most sense if she and I were to wed. It would consolidate everything, and we’d be able to supply the kingdom with proper heirs.”

“Oh that’s absolute bollocks, Pete, stop thinking with that heavy gold hat you wear,” disgusted. “Start thinking like the older brother who loves his sister and _listens_ to what _she_ wants and needs. Because it isn’t _you_ at all, Pete. You aren’t it, you never were, never will be, you’re a bloody bureaucrat when she wants something else, something as wild as she is instead of bound up and happy to be prisoner. She’s not that person no matter how much she plays at it for the safety of others, and you’d never accept her need to be free sometimes, because you don’t understand that aspect of her _at all_. Just let it go, let her have this freedom at least. She’ll do everything else you ask of her, but don’t make her do that, because you won’t like the result.”

Edmund realized suddenly as Peter examined him intently, that he had said too much. “What have you done this time, Ed?” Angrily, “ _What did you do_?”

Drawing himself straight, “Firstly, that’s none of your bloody business, Pete. Secondly, grow the fuck up. Third, back the hell off from Susan, before you have a problem on your hands that you can’t do shit about. Susan’s her own person, honour that right to autonomy as much as you do any other person’s right to the same in this kingdom.”

“How long, Ed? How long has this been going on under my very nose?” Peter was up in his space trying to impress with his greater breadth and height. “How long have you two been stealing away when you knew of my suit?”

 _Show no fear,_ Edmund counseled himself. Coolly, “The minute you thought of her as a piece on the board, you stopped loving her, Pete. Same goes for the rest of us. But I remember what was sacrificed for me, and that it was something done out of love, not duty. And it’s a lesson that’s stuck with me, Pete. Love protects, gives, and sacrifices, while accepting the fullness of those it loves. So what if I love her? You’ve got her thinking she’s a piece on the board, so nothing can really be done, now can it?”

The High King flinched, growling, “You’ve made a mess of things again, Ed.”

“Yea, sure, it’s always me,” he agreed. “Like no one else has a mind of their own.” Seriously, “This isn’t a game, Pete. You’ve got to let people make their own choices, and know they won’t always make ones you like. In this you just can’t have it your way, because it’s not just you. Let it go, let her go, and do the other things you liked doing before you got this stupid notion in your head to tie her up and make her your possession.”

“You haven’t got what it takes either, you know, to keep her,” the verbal barb meant to strike tender places. “She’s always been consistent in her fickleness, discarding what doesn’t hold her attention anymore.”

Nevermind that they _all_ did that, that their brother would fault Susan for behaviour allowed and acceptable in all others, rubbed Edmund seriously the wrong way.

Edmund stepped to the side, away, “I know. But I’m not trying to keep her, Pete. I’ll only share in whatever she _gives_. The Creatures we fit, they only choose mates who interest them, fulfill them - and when that no longer holds true, they both move on. You though, you never let anything go, not until you decide you’ve taken all you can get from it. That’s not sharing or giving, Pete - and Su needs to share and give and take. You can’t conceptualize any of that, can you? Probably never will either.”

Knowing when to quit the field, Edmund left. He probably shouldn’t seek Susan, it’d only aggravate Peter. Yet he just wanted to be close for a bit. He didn’t need anything else. When he found her, she was in her small laboratory. The smells of various medicinals - not all of which were pleasant - were in the air, a giant apothecary's chest took up half the length of one wall, floor to ceiling, with so many drawers and cupboards that each one had a little slot for a bit of parchment that stated the contents. It was a regular mad wizard’s lab, complete with bubbling brews in beakers and extractors, beautiful blown glass, endless mixes of things being distilled... She may come to his office, but Edmund would come here only when he needed her the worst, otherwise, he’d find her in the library, or wait there, surrounded by the tomes she found so precious.

Susan was muttering to herself, a heavy leather apron over a sensible dress, one with sleeves that ended just over her elbows. Hair flipped and tied back out of the way, she was checking, sorting, and making notes in one of her ever present little books for observations or thoughts. Natural light streamed in from the high windows, casting an easy glow around her, and Edmund felt relaxed instantly. 

Absentminded, stepping to arch up on a stool to peer at a bookshelf’s contents, “Anyone fall ill?”

“No,” he shook his head, though she wasn’t looking, so wouldn’t see it. 

“Something wrong?” large crystal blue eyes focused on him, examining him carefully, head cocked.

“Nope,” another shake, a tilt of smile. 

Brow arching, “Miss me, then?”

“And if I did?” Edmund approached, a hand resting comfortably on his pommel, the other reaching out to touch the small of her back under the guise of stabilizing her precarious leaning against the shelf.

“If you did - _if_ \- then I’d say we should go for a ride and a picnic,” Su was doing that thing where she glowed, eyes sparkling, lips all odd in that rolling pursed smile. “And if you didn’t miss me, well that’s ever so sad, as I missed you, terribly awfully.”

“Su, I’m sixteen, I could eat a yak twice a day and still be happy to go on a picnic, and getting out of here sounds like a good thing, but...” Edmund stopped talking as arms wound around his shoulders, the stool she was on making Susan just about his height and the temptation was too great. Kissing her, hands on her waist, Edmund plucked her from the stepping stool, and he forgot he was still sweaty from sparring which should probably earn him a swat, yet it didn’t, just tightened arms. Setting his sister down after, “Right, well that’s a compelling argument to go ahead for that ride. I’ve a counter offer, or I should say, an addendum, further stipulation or some other legalese.”

Susan dipped slightly in a little acknowledging curtsey, “Why thank you, though I’d like to hear your suggestions, good sir.”

“Pack a tent.” It was brash, a brazen and foolhardy idea, one that may upset the delicate balance Susan had felt they should maintain, and her reasons were all good, sound, and he agreed, but Aslan he needed to be away with her, some peace of the wilderness soothing them. But Edmund was ready to justify it, “We’ve been known to run off together plenty of times, usually because you ‘require’ an escort. This would be little different.” Muttering, “And it’d give Pete time to get over it.”

“Oh dear, really? So soon? It’s too much to ask that he couldn’t keep his head in the sand a little longer, oh well.” Susan had been eager and listening up until his last bit, he could tell. Hands on his chest, fingers splayed as she looked up at him, “I don’t suppose I can be hopeful and he’s likely to leave well enough alone?”

“At the moment? No joy on that, I’m afraid,” he shrugged. 

Teeth sunk into her lip as she mulled their options and situation over, “There’s a few Packs and Wings not so far, they have young, and would always welcome a helping hand in tending them.”

It was as good an excuse as any. 

In three hours, notice was left as to their approximate planned location, supplies for two weeks, and a small, sturdy tent were all gathered. Lucy danced about their Mounts, kissing cheeks and waving, joyful just because it was their sister’s way. Whether she knew, guessed or had figured it out for certain or not, Edmund wouldn’t make any bets. She had a few more years herself before she would grow impatient with Peter. Then again, her bright eyes were straying towards the knight, Peridan, more frequently, while once, they had only seen Peter. _Ah, growing up, stuff changes, doesn’t it? And the dashing king reveals himself to be a workaholic, little time for the games you’d need, huh, Luce?_ It wasn’t Edmund’s business in either case. Hell, he half hoped she went for the knight, Peter didn’t really have room for anything but his duty in his heart. It would make him a poor partner in the long run, and Lucy deserved better. So did Pete frankly, but the man had made his choice, it could all change, but Peter was the predictability of stone sometimes.

Overhead, Alinor, Susan’s Eagle, flew, diving playfully and buffeting Ilfra, Edmund’s Hawk guide, and Hrafn, his Raven guard. Birds were well represented in their honourguard, but only the Eagles were large enough to carry a human with ease. The Gryphons were another matter entirely, and they had playfully groused that he and Susan had opted for the four-legged, landlocked Horses as their conveyances. Beneath him, Phillip’s paces were a prancing dance, the star blazed chestnut Horse eager for the ride. A rare laugh found Edmund as his friend exploded into a gallop, the wind carrying it, and he heard his elder sister's delight at the informal challenge issued, her own Pavan's hooves striking the ground to catch up.

... **Mating Displays**

Lean corded muscle flowed under her tongue, and her laugh was throaty at the interested look Edmund cast her over his bare shoulder. There was a favourite tendon that ran from the back of his neck, down over his shoulders and into his upper arm. It flexed and strained against the sun kissed skin with a very comfortable ease, and it had drawn her eye as she watched him tickle fish bellies in the river. Susan pressed her face into the butterfly wing spread of his shoulder blade, the current flowing around their bared legs, what with her hiked up chemise, and his pants cuffs rolled well over his knees. They were both sodden anyway.

"Dinner may not get caught with you carrying on like that," her brother's look was curious and wolfish in one...

 _Probably has something to do with my hand running over his rather nice rump,_ she smiled, giving said quite fine posterior a squeeze.

Or it could be the other hand stroking his bunched up stomach as she had caught him hunched over in search of fish. A hand that ventured lower playfully every few kissing nips to his shoulder, so her fingers skated over the inside of his thigh, tickling his manhood to wakefulness. Not that it needed much encouragement, she had felt the jump and twitch as soon as she gave him a light initial touch. 

"Well, if you need two yaks a day to come close to not being hungry, then maybe I should stop," Susan said in between exploratory kisses over what she could reach without moving one direction or another.

“Hey, let’s not be hasty!” Edmund twisted around and she found herself hoisted up over the shoulder that she’d so abused, “If it’s a choice between that and you, I’ve made up my mind, it’s no competition.”

They didn’t make it beyond the bank, and those impossibly juicy lips were on her thighs, delivering long sucking kisses. This time Susan was certain he'd go farther than the teasing ones they'd been sharing, and she eagerly spread her legs further to accommodate - or at least she hoped he would go farther. That got her a snicker, a muttered 'impatient?' but any answer she could have tendered was cut off. Shuddering as Edmund's tongue delved into her folds, she released a squealing, giggling gasp, his hands hiking her legs up behind the knee suddenly which spread her wide for him. Hands flailing between her legs, Susan grabbed hold of her brother's dark hair, shivering at the wet suction that sent skittering pleasure through her sex. Trying to rock up against Ed's mouth, Susan could only moan, he clearly wasn't going to let her interrupt, and she keened as his chuckles were interspersed with moist, noisily enjoyed licks and suckling at delicate flesh. 

Panting, chanting, moaning, fingers grasping and tugging at his hair as she shuddered with each flick, "Wicked, wicked, Ed, wicked hands, wicked mouth, wicked - oh!"

Toes scrunching in the air, Susan whimpered her release, a release prolonged by a pair of strong, nimble fingers massaging the roof of her channel all while she wasn't allowed to squirm both away and into Edmund's delightful ministrations. _Evil, oh, so evil, going to get him, yes, after, oh -!_ The shock of full lips wrapping over her ridge accompanied by a rapid pulse of tongue, the firm circling fingers, and Susan's body crackled with bliss, a breathless jolting cry of completion torn free. 

Edmund's chuckles had Susan flailing to sit up and tackle him when he finally began to pull free, the fingers of one hand pulling at the laces of his trousers, while she fought to shuck her chemise. The late summer, early autumn air was brisk on her flesh, but the sun was shining, and she was well satiated, yet aroused, her whole body flushed with the desire for more. Any laughter that may have begun, ceased, and calloused hands roved across her chest and waist, leaving Susan feeling powerful in the awareness of just how much Ed wanted her, his navy eyes gone so dark that they were a stormy night. She had the upper hand long enough to pull his cock into her body, only to then find her own laughter again as they rolled about. Every grinding lunge drove Susan wilder, she wanted to lick him clean, she wanted to kiss him until he was as breathless as she was, to not let him go, and to ride him until he was jelly-kneed. Neither lasted long, their bodies breaking apart and twisting together again, hungry in their explorations. The end came with her, rump in the air and tight to his stomach as hard plunges shoved his prick all the way to nudge her womb, her hand wedged between her thighs, plying her pearl as she moaned, and Edmund's hands locked tight on her waist, yanking her back into him every time he surged forward.

After, Edmund draped over her back, Susan grumbled into the ground, "There's a pebble biting my tit, Ed. And too many to count elsewhere."

Like her knees, but he was likely having the same issue. But there were her belly, her arms, her cheek too... While he got her comfortable back and rump.

"Oh, you mean it's another of your so manys?" with a slick, spilled seed stickiness, Edmund pulled free, his manhood only reluctantly softening, teasing her.

Rolling onto her back, bare to the sky, Susan reached down, stroking and fingering herself just to feel the after effects, her voice a happy little moan, "So, so many. Yes. Maybe we could take a nap where there's not so many and I'll wake you up..."

Edmund's fingers joined hers, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, warm, pale muscles all up against her, "I'd probably like that, but you're sure that you're done? Don't quite seem to be to me..."

Laughing, Susan tilted her head to the side to better see him, squinting, her thighs spreading and tightening restlessly, "Oh I'm done enough, this just feels really quite nice."

With a look towards their not so distant camp, "I think if we can manage to get to the rugs, I'll be glad to show you that this soldier is rather good at rallying himself in short order."

... **Tide Winds**

"You know, I didn't actually mean you should build all those things, Pete," Edmund was left trying to hold in his laughter by dint of will and hands over his gut. 

The grand orchard that had existed since before Cair Paravel's being built (the orchard's presence was actually much of why the location had been chosen) had been expanded upon. _A lot_. Where once it had led up to one of the many gardens that were part of Cair Paravel's beauty, space had been made to force-grow a verdant wilderness that was too perfect to be real, all encircled by an impenetrable wall of trees accessible by only a few paths with arching boughs made to weave limbs together. The trees were every variety of apple known to exist, as well as their cousin fruits like pears. There were even a few rare quince, which had almost all died out during the Hundred Year Winter. In the midst of that whole thing, was a massive, sculpted bower, that in cold months, could be easily hung with heavy canvas and tapestries to make it warm. But inside the bower itself were the sturdy basics for some of the arts the High Queen liked to partake of, as well as large stands for an Eagle or two to make themselves comfortable. 

To have gone out on the year's Progress and returned to find such an extravagant change, and there was even a hanging staircase from Susan's balcony that could be brought up or down - it was a bit...much. And bloody hilarious too. Pete was still trying to soften Susan up. First there'd been an enormous aviary, supposedly for all Birds to be welcome, then out in the Woods and around the fjord of Beruna, bolt hole dens for Packs... Then there was the healing lodge that had been built upon turning the place into a hospital...

"I don't know what you're talking about, Edmund," Pete said, the very picture of regal nondisclosure. "We needed a royal flagship anyway, and _The Splendor Hyaline_ serves that need. Besides, Aslan gifted the Southern Sun to Susan, she should take some time to explore all that."

They stood overlooking the additions that had been undertaken while he had been on Progress with Susan and Lucy, and he shook his head. "Lu's the one who's got the Eastern Sea, Pete. Is your memory going?"

Sharply, a hand resting on the rail, "I remember. But she's not my top diplomat. Susan is. I need to know more of what is within our reaches. The people, their customs, what trade can be had, who will ally with us. Not just what we’re told by diplomats and traders, I need your firsthand impressions and knowledge."

"So - what? You're going to just...send her off into the sunset?" 

"In two years, I want an heir," Peter said. "We'll make it official, and then the two of you can more easily carry on."

"Pete, have you even _discussed_ this with her?" Irritably, "You'd think you would have figured it out by now. You get much farther with Su if you talk to her. Really talk. And then _listen_ to what she says. Then modify so that there's an accord. It's not difficult, Pete! How can’t you have figured this out after you’ve been spoonfed it so many times?"

His brother turned to him, features twisting into a grimace, "Three years you two have been at it. Three years and not even a slip. She has been hounded since we were crowned. By Aslan, she was still thirteen when I began fielding suits for her hand in the first year of our reign! Now she's twenty-one and I'm tired, Ed -"

"Fourteen, it was winter, she had just turned fourteen, Pete," Edmund corrected him. "And that doesn't make any of it right. If you're so tired of turning down direct requests to court her, then have them go through Delinath, the Tigress. If any man can hold his water facing her, then he's got permission to pursue. Delegate it." Face pulling into a frown of his own, "Because here's what you're not seeing - if you take Susan, or if she's no longer available, it will be Lucy who's next."

Peter looked away, "She's promised herself to Peridan, and I'll honour that. When she turns twenty, they can have their quiet little wedding."

"Is that what you want? All of us married off, and yourself alone?" 

"Technically, Susan would be my wife," Pete pointed out. "Look, Ed...the moment I try to talk to her about anything like that, she gets up and walks away. She burns all the notes, even official ones. When it comes to things like this, you're the only one I can turn to to get her to hear me at all."

Edmund rubbed his head, displacing the black waves that had finally become manageable, uniform in length hanging to brush his collarbones. At least they hung to there when not in their typical queue. But the lockes were still easily tugged free of it, and with his fingers worrying through it, little enough of his hair remained bound. He wasn't the jealous sort, he didn't care about the suitors other than how they got on Susan's nerves. Nor did Edmund have a problem with Susan's lovers - the liaisons provided cover for what he and Susan shared, so that the fewest number of people possible would be allowed to suspect them of being lovers. And Susan didn't mind his own chasing of skirts. _Misdirection and distraction, the best tools in our arsenal as predators, our allies, friends, and playmates. With them, we can make armies disappear and reappear at will. With them, we're nothing but good friends, close siblings cast from the same mould, but never more._

But there were days Edmund wished they could just walk through the halls, pause, and kiss. Days when they didn't have to keep careful watch. The Narnians would say nothing, they were loyal to the point of absolute fanaticism. Not even gossipy Nightingales would sing the truths to foreigners. Even in spite of that, he and Susan were careful. What Pete was offering was the gift of a brother, not the hopes and decree of a High King.

"I'll talk to her, but I can't promise anything, Pete," he finally sighed.

"Take her to the sea, talk to her then," came the suggestion. "Just start off with the fact that her status as a shiny bauble isn't anything fit for her in any manner."

Edmund frowned more deeply, "I'm not going to manipulate her, Pete. It will be my way on this."

"If you want it to work, Ed, you'll try _my_ way on this," the concern was there. "I've had a long time to think about it, and watched. Just because I'm busy all the time doesn't mean I don't watch my family, Ed. It's for love of all three of you that I do what I do. You were right, I went about it all wrong before. Now it's time to make what can be made right, right." Hand on his shoulder, Peter's look was deep and scrutinizing, "You bring out the best in each other. She cools your temper while bringing you to where you long to be with us, just as you keep her safe when she won't let any other back her, even as it’s with you she can just be herself without worry or fear."

Months later, they set sail. Susan was excited, this was an adventure, one of her very own. Edmund couldn't tear his gaze from her, she was, as always, truly radiant. By the third day out, she had donned a pair of his leggings and a belted down tunic, and was learning to scramble in the lowest rigging, her feet bare as she would hang, leaning away from the rope, hair only loosely tied back. And he was torn. If he went about the proposal the way Peter had suggested, Susan would agree. Anyone else, and he would have come up with that tack on his own without prompting. But this was _Susan_... 

Scrambling down, sucking on a hemp splinter in her palm, Susan looked at him curiously, mumbling around the meat of her hand, "Edmund, what's wrong? Does the sea air not agree with you?"

Lifting his arm for her, he was happy that she came in to lay her head on his shoulder, and as always, the honey sweetness of her brewed precious attar reached his nose. "Nah, it's just going to be odd out here, like this. Our own private kingdom, sailing around to ports of call..."

Gently she chided him, "Liar." The pesky little bit of hemp was prized free and discarded with a flick of long fingers so it went overboard. "You can tell me anything, Edmund. Just don't lie to me."

Twisting he wrapped both his arms around her, tucking his face against hers. "It would be nice if we were free to truly be ourselves, without fear of political dangers."

"It would, wouldn't it?" Susan nestled herself against him, an arm between them, but the other wound around his back. "No more suitors, rushing from one bedroom to another..."

"If you married Peter -"

"No," tone firm and flinty suddenly.

"Just - just hear me out Su," he begged. " _Please._ "

His sister was stiff in his arms, but she nodded, "Alright."

Deciding that mentioning their brother directly by name was just going to put her on the defensive, Edmund dropped that part. "If you were married to someone that no outside force would complain over, then there'd be no more hounding. And if that someone...didn't have any expectations beyond an heir being provided at some point - even if it's not from his seed - he'd acknowledge it as his own. Primogeniture can pass from a mother just as easily from a father, and none would ever care who the sire was. If that was the only expectation...would it be so bad? The kingdom wouldn't be flooded by the unwanted all the time, you wouldn't be endlessly harassed, and the succession would be secured. We'd be free."

Face tucked into his chest, looking down at the deck, at his booted feet near her bare ones, "What about Lucy? And not all of those suits are for brides...some look to add a Just King to their House."

"Lucy has asked to have Peridan, and when she reaches a good age, then that's how that'll go, so long as that's still her choice at that point," he explained. "And me...well, you know me, Su. You take Pete, then declare me your morganatic consort. Or just say I'm off the table, and anyone fool enough to complain can become chow for the Packs, Wings, Flights, Solitaries, and whatever other felids like to call groups of themselves. Simple enough there." Snorting, "Hell, I'll just give them what for and a friendly smile, and they'll all run away. It's all bollocks anyway, you're the only one they really went after, it's more like a formality these days, all of them trying because they think you'll have to choose one of them eventually. Though I don't think any of them believe you'll choose one of them either."

Edmund found her hauling him to their stateroom suite. It was as fine as anything he could have drafted - _Probably because it's bloody well based off of what I've drawn, blast that sneaky satyr Tumnus_ \- while simpler than others would expect. Colours washed the ironwood in stains rather than paints. Natural grain showed through glossed blues, greens, oranges, purples, yellows, and reds. Seals and a few precious shapes had been set under the stains and glazes, floating in the space between wood and touchable surface. Several panes thick glass filled the windows which were unshuttered, both interior and exterior, allowing light to wash through, the thick satyr made rugs lit up, their patterns picked and plucked, a net depicting all Talking Beasts. A table for their meals was also a desk, tucked against one of the walls that spanned between the small balcony and one of the two large windows that had space to curl up and read. There were two doors, each leading to small bedrooms, but they only used the one. 

Edmund was sat on the swooping sensuous curve backed sette that reminded him of the span that was his sister's dips and valleys when she lay on her side, reading. Susan's hands began mapping his face as she, with her eyes bright and shining, eyes like a diamond mine, watched him. "And what if there's a border war, Edmund?" She sat beside him, his sister, his lover, his queen, his friend. She was all of that. Unerringly, her palm smoothed over scars he had gained defending Narnia...including the great ugly mark Jadis had so kindly gifted him years ago. "What other bit of your flesh shall be cut away for their feast of pain? Ed, we'd be no more free then than we are now."

The buckles that held his light, undyed suede jerkin closed were undone, spread open, and he helped Susan divest him of his whisper thin black linen undershirt, and he couldn't help the reflexive shudder at the sensation of her fingers moving and testing, tasting his skin with fingertips. "There'll always be skirmishes and feints, Su," he protested. "Always. But one day, if we continue to hold you out as temptation, promise, reward or prize - someone will call our bluff. And they will demand what's been denied to everyone else. Any peace it purchases will be short lived." Grasping her shoulders firmly, but her gaze was on his scars, her fingers pressing, remembering each, he wouldn't doubt her memory at all on those counts, "Then there will be more attacks, from all those spurned, and I'll still be the one to go out to meet them."

"I can't, Edmund," pads sliding across a more recently gained gash from a duel. It was still a little sore, months later. He had refused Lucy's cordial, instead opting, as he often did, to carry his scars and be under Susan's loving care, rather than wasting the precious resource. "I can't be the reason for you going to battle because my hand isn't available to strike bargains. There'll be a point where you won't return, just as so many others haven’t. Don't ask this of me, Ed, please. It's bad enough you take the field to ward off danger, bad enough you defend my honour when there shouldn't be a reason it needs defending as is..." Full lips, soft as rose petals, beestung and lush, the sweetest fruits ripe for tasting, those lips were pursing and unpursing, rolling inwards and outwards as they tensed, relaxed, fighting words or wails that didn't burst free. They trembled in tender fear over him, over their people, but mostly, over him. He knew her that well at least. "I want to wake beside you, to not worry over these repercussions, and tell them to just...bog off, but," her eyes were measuring each slash, gouge, and thrust that had slipped past his guard, "not at this cost. Never at this cost - I’m selfish, I love you too much to dare that risk...for if I lost you, I’d be unmade."


End file.
